


the sound of your descent

by depthsofgreen



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Exhibitionism, Future Fic, Loud Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Power Play, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 15:10:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10573869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/depthsofgreen/pseuds/depthsofgreen
Summary: Ed proposes a game. The rules are simple: if Oswald keeps quiet, he wins. If he doesn't, Ed reigns victorious. Ed has no intention of losing.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Shamelessly inspired by Oswald's [inability to keep quiet when receiving just a hug from Ed](https://youtu.be/DmD2jrEDi4A?t=2m20s).

Ed turns the doorknob to the Van Dahl mansion’s entryway and knows there’s trouble before he’s even fully stepped inside.

A cacophony of gruff voices fill the ordinary quiet of the home’s ingress. Ed moves inward to find Oswald seated at the head of his dining table, anxious-faced henchmen standing, sitting, and leaning around him.

Oswald’s mouth is thin, the purple shadow in the hollows of his eyes dark.

 _Bat trouble_ , Ed knows immediately. It’s a rarity these days for Oswald to conduct business in his home, and rarer still for him to conduct it on a night he’s set aside for Edward. No one but that blasted Bat could have managed _this_.

“Penguin,” Ed announces himself, tone formal, when the bickering crowd fails to make note of his entrance.

Everyone stills and hushes immediately, a sea of tired faces turning toward him. Even outside of his hat and trademark shining green, The Riddler can command a room with just a word.

He smiles.

“Nygma,” Oswald replies, voice unaffected, but Ed alone sees the way his mouth softens, the sharp curve of his chin tilting up.

Oswald stands, leaning heavily to one side, the loud thunk of his cane hitting the floor and drawing the room’s attention back to him.

“Alright, boys,” Oswald projects, mouth curving sinisterly. “I have matters to discuss with The Riddler here. Continue strategizing amongst yourselves in the meantime. I expect a halfway decent solution to this little problem by the time I’m back.”

The implicit threat of the statement hangs unspoken but palpable in the air.

Oswald walks over to Ed, the limp of his leg pronounced. Ed eyes it with some concern. Oswald watches him keenly as he settles inches before him.

“You know how stress agitates it,” Oswald says with a wave of his hand.

“Stress,” Ed nods, knowingly. “The Bat, I take it?”

“Who else?” Oswald sighs, bringing a hand down to rub soothingly at his own knee.

“Anything The Riddler can do to help? I do love taking Gotham’s finest flying rodent on.”

“No,” Oswald smiles, grateful, “This is a matter that has to be dealt with…quietly.”

“ _Quiet_ isn’t my forte,” Ed agrees, a grin painting his features, “Except for where it counts, of course.”

Ed brings a suggestive hand to the small of Oswald’s back, lower lip between his teeth.

Oswald slaps his hand away, turning worriedly to the table behind them. They’re distracted, of course - Ed wouldn’t have made the move otherwise.

“The study,” Oswald whispers once he’s turned back around, freckled cheeks pink.

They walk toward the room together, Ed’s pace slow to keep in time with Oswald’s. Oswald leans exhaustedly against his desk once they’re inside, and Ed closes the door behind them. The chaotic din of the scene outside muffles with it.

Ed strides toward Oswald, gripping him around the waist and hoisting him up onto the desk with ease. Oswald emits a surprised _oof_ , then smiles up at Ed through mascara-lengthened lashes when Ed settles standing between his spread thighs.

Ed brings his hands to the stiffer of his two legs, massaging roughly through the fabric of Oswald’s pants, from just above his knee down to the knotted muscle of his calf.

“Mmm,” Oswald sighs, purpled eyes fluttering closed, “That feels nice. Thank you.”

Ed only smiles, hands persisting in their work, the musculature of Oswald’s leg loosening with each hard rub.

Ed travels up, fingers digging rhythmically into the meat of Oswald’s upper thigh, and Oswald’s breath quickens, lips curving up around gasping smiles, sounds breathy.

“The things your hands do to me,” Oswald stutters between small gasps.

Ed considers him then: ruddy bliss on his face, head thrown back, long white neck curved forward, exposed.

He brings his mouth to Oswald’s ear, circling fingers sliding still further up his thigh.

“I’d like to use more than just my hands,” Ed whispers, cautious.

Oswald lets out a high-toned _mmmmmm_ at that. A good sign, Ed knows. Oswald isn’t always up for anything that demands he take his pants off, but Ed is exceedingly grateful when he _is_.

Ed slides the palms of his hands up over Oswald’s hips, nibbling at his earlobe, and Oswald gasps.

It’s a delicate matter, handling Oswald. He’s sensitive to touch, some nights a mere stroke at the side of his bare neck enough to leave him panting, eyes watering. The first time Ed laid intimate hand on him, Oswald had come, half-screaming, with only Ed’s hand on his clothed backside and his crotch rubbing at his hip.

It tickled Ed, to have so much power over the sways and voids of his body with so little effort, but it made some practiced patience necessary, Oswald prone to overstimulation and an accompanying embarrassment that ended some trysts before they even really began.

“Would you like that?” Ed asks, low and scratchy into his ear, “My mouth on you?”

Oswald’s body arches in response, a desperate whimper in his throat. The sound of it emboldens Ed, hands kneading at his hips, fingertips digging softly into the supple rise of his ass.

Ed presses his lips to the tender spot between Oswald’s earlobe and his jawline, sucking experimentally, and Oswald’s hand grips his shoulder, tight, a drawn-out throaty breath filling the air as his hips buck up.

He walks his lips down the visible line of Oswald’s neck, tongue flicking, teeth grazing, and Oswald’s _mewling_ , feeble cries broken up by sharp intakes of breath. Ed flattens his tongue and licks a band up over Oswald’s carotid artery, the pound of it beating back against him as the volume of Oswald’s stuttering sounds amplify.

Ed is aware, suddenly, of the conversation still taking place outside, the sound of it audible if muted. He thinks of Oswald’s men, terrified of The Penguin and working frantically to hobble together a plan that will please him, desirous as they are of his clout, his _power_.

And here Ed is, making him _squeal_ with just some lazy biting sucks at his throat.

With a grin, Ed unbuttons Oswald’s top, fingers moving deftly, wetly mouthing at his neck all the while and traveling down toward his collarbone as his black dress shirt parts further open.

When Ed closes his spit-slick lips around Oswald’s nipple, tongue working at the beaded nub, Oswald yelps, a startled, ecstatic sound.

“Ed,” Oswald exhales, bringing a hand to Ed’s shoulder.

Ed gives his nipple another lap before pulling away and looking up at Oswald’s face, his cheeks blotched with red and his pale eyes wide.

“Should we…” Oswald’s breathing hard, bringing a hand up to his own neck as though to calm himself, “Should we go upstairs? Won’t they hear?”

“Hmm,” Ed considers, straightening his back and replacing Oswald’s hand at his throat with his own, then pressing down lightly and smiling when Oswald’s eyes squeeze shut, “Maybe I _want_ them to hear.”

There’s a crackle of electricity between them, Ed’s heart rate pounding and Oswald’s eyes snapping open. Ed stares back into them, lips curling.

The ever-present steely glint in Oswald’s eyes blurs into feral desperation, a strangled “ _oh_ ” on his lips when Ed leans forward to press their mouths together, vibrating hum of the utterance dancing on his tongue when he licks it against Oswald’s.

As the kiss deepens, Oswald melts beneath him, moaning into Ed’s mouth afresh, fingertips scraping up the nape of Ed’s neck and tangling in his hair.   

Pulling back, Ed drops his eyes and fingers back to Oswald’s nipple, sex-flushed and still shining wet from the earlier attention of Ed’s mouth. He rubs the pads of his fingers over it, gentle then more forcefully when Oswald gives an approving gasp.

Oswald’s chest heaves as Ed continues the rub-pinch at his nipple, turning his head to leave teeth marks in the neglected other side of Oswald’s neck. Oswald’s letting out a sound like a close-mouthed whir, much more restrained, Ed notes, than his usual. His arms tremble around him from what Ed can only imagine is the effort of biting back his customary racket.

Ed pulls away from Oswald’s neck, finger still rubbing at his nipple, grinning wickedly at the red sweat-shine of Oswald’s face and the tight clench of his jaw working to keep his cries contained.

He drops a soft hand to Oswald’s crotch, grin growing all the wickeder when he feels him fully erect. Ed squeezes down, softly, rubbing with the heel of his palm, watching Oswald carefully, whose bright eyes are blazing with arousal and a heat akin to danger.

When Ed pulls his zipper down and moves beneath his underwear to touch his shaft, bare skin on bare skin, Oswald’s hand clamps over his own mouth, muffling the frenzied moan that threatens to tear through the air and reach the ears of the house’s other occupants.

Ed laughs softly at the sight and suppressed sound, hand jerking up and down around Oswald, his squirms and swallowed noises egging Ed further on.

“Are you up for a game?” Ed asks, a manic cackle he usually reserves for The Bat contorting his features, “If I make you scream, I win.”

Ed lifts Oswald up just enough to slide his pants and briefs down over his hips, hand wasting no time in re-wrapping itself around Oswald’s cock.

“If you manage to stay quiet, _you_ win,” Ed continues, thrusts of his hand hard and fast, Oswald’s eyes leaking and the clamp of his hand around his own mouth cutting off circulation, “I’ll let you decide the terms of your own victory when you’re coherent again.”

Ed laughs again at that, Oswald helpless and scrambling to swallow his sputters beneath him.

It hardly matters what Oswald may plan to demand of him should he be victorious.

Ed only ever plays to win.

Sinking down into a crouch, Ed pulls Oswald’s half-discarded pants and briefs over his legs, around the shoes still clinging to his feet, dropping them to the floor and staring up at his prize: Oswald’s slender pale legs spread, red-pink cock hard and wet at the tip. His dress shirt and jacket still hang at his arms, ripped open wide enough to give Ed an excellent view of the splotches of purple and scarlet his mouth has sucked and bitten up across his chest and neck.

Ed grips his fist around the base of Oswald’s cock, leaning forward to lick messily at the salty-wet head.

Oswald clamps his other hand over the first, eyes squeezed shut, labored exhales puffing from his nose.

“When I make you scream, as I - I think we both know - inevitably will,” Ed pauses the sentence there to give another lick, tongue laving more precisely at the slit this time, “The only reward I need is the knowledge that all those trembling goons out there know who The Penguin belongs to.”

Ed wraps his lips around the bulging head of Oswald’s cock, sucking softly and bringing his hand up-down the still-exposed shaft.

There’s a strangled noise at that, high-pitched even despite the muffle of Oswald’s hands. Nowhere near loud enough yet to garner Ed a win, but. He hasn’t even really started trying yet.

Lips curling up where they’re still wrapped at the head, Ed sinks down, jaw widening to take Oswald in entire, fingers dipping back to tease at his perineum. As Ed bobs up and down, he hears the distinct thud of Oswald falling back to lie across the desk, his thighs spreading around Ed’s head and hips jerking slightly.

He’s surprisingly quiet, putting up more of a fight than Ed truthfully thought him capable of, but that only makes Ed harder in his pants, resolve and compulsive need to come out on top strengthened.

Ed slides his mouth off of Oswald’s cock with a final lick at the head, distracted momentarily by a trail of spit dripping downward before taking hold of Oswald’s thighs and spreading them further apart, bringing Oswald’s hips just off desk’s edge.

He peeks up at Oswald through the spread of his legs, now lying flat on his back across the desk, hands still over his mouth, eyes squeezed shut and skin flushed coral all over. His chest is swelling and falling with labored breaths, the inhale-exhales of which Ed can fully hear now that he isn’t focused on sucking him off.

“You look just _ravishing_ like this,” Ed purrs, genuinely but not without strategy: he _knows_ Oswald, and knows that words of praise affect him as viscerally as touches do (sometimes _more_ so, depending on the touch, or depending on the praise), “I halfway wish all those men outside could see you.”

Sure enough, Oswald moans, hips wriggling, and Ed watches him lift his hands to let out a gasping, near-vocal breath before he clamps them right back in place, stubborn even as he continues making soft little sounds against his muffling palms.

“Do you like the thought of that?” Ed asks, a tender growl, “Everyone out there seeing you spread and desperate for me? Some part of you must, or you never would have agreed to this game.”

Oswald whimpers, and Ed bites back a laugh.

Ed turns his attention back to the sight just before his face, Oswald’s thighs open, cock and balls fully on display, rounded ass partially so.

Ed knows exactly what move to make next. He adjusts the position of his own crouch and lifts Oswald’s legs, bent, up into the air above him, sliding his hips down further off the desk and grinning wide when Oswald writhes, breaths coming even harder. He, too, knows what’s next, Ed can tell, his body speaking in place of his voice.

Without further preamble, Ed takes an ass cheek in each hand and parts them, his cock pulsing at the unveiled sight: a bloom of dusky purpled skin giving way to the crinkled pucker of Oswald’s hole, taut then relaxed beneath Ed’s stare.

Ed holds the moment as is for just a beat, Oswald spread wide, hole in anticipatory, clenching tremors.

“Ed,” comes Oswald’s voice above him, barely more than a whisper, ragged and frenzied, “Please.”

Ed moves right in as if commanded, open mouth pressing sloppily around the rim, Oswald already exhaling sharply before Ed even darts the loosened tip of his tongue over his opening. Growing impatient himself, Ed abandons his usual teasing, lapping up and down and side to side in hard rapidfire swipes, humming as Oswald’s muscles loosen beneath the relentless attentions of his tongue and mouth.

“ _Ungghhh_ ,” Oswald cries, a choking sound relatively low in volume but clear enough that Ed can tell he’s dropped his hands back to his sides.

Invigorated, Ed speeds his licks and laps up even further, slipping the tip of his tongue just inside on every alternating switch back and forth, jaw growing tense as Oswald’s vocalizations increase in pitch and decibel alike, louder, louder, _louder_ -

Ed pulls back, suddenly, with no warning, realizing with a flush of prophetic victory that he doesn’t want Oswald well and truly _howling_ until he has Ed’s cock inside him.

Oswald issues an incoherent complaint at the sudden withdrawal, quieting (though still breathing violently hard) when Ed stands, pulling a bottle of lubricant from his pocket and then dropping his own pants and briefs in two fluid, swift motions.

Ed lathers his cock with several hard strokes, a grunt forming in the back of his throat as the molten heat that’s been building and building threatens to bubble over. Still stroking himself, he looks down at Oswald, his limbs akimbo and his mouth hanging swollen and open as if in a silent scream, cock pressed hard as ever against his belly and ass crack shining wet.

Pressing his hips forward, Ed nestles his cock between the fleshy mounds of Oswald’s ass, pressing at his hole, still not quite inside.

Oswald’s looking up at him, eyes wet and sparkling like ice, and Ed rubs the head of his cock over his rim, the lube-wet friction making both of them hiss. The need to bury himself deep inside Oswald and hear him come utterly undone is sending Ed light-headed.

“Go on, then,” Oswald says, voice uneven but razor-sharp with challenge, “Make me scream.”

Something in Ed’s chest _ignites_ and he’s pushing fully inside with a single rough thrust before he thinks better of it, the tight hot squeeze of Oswald around him so overwhelming he nearly misses the squeal that rips from Oswald’s throat as Ed’s hips smack into Oswald’s skin.

The full length of his cock is swallowed completely by the clenching muscle of Oswald around him, Oswald bearing down and tightening in rhythm with his gasping cries as he works to comfortably adjust to the too-quick intrusion. Ed stands still, allowing him a moment to negotiate the conflicting poles of pain and pleasure that he knows Oswald _thrives_ on, the frictive spasm of Oswald’s stretched heat around him satisfying enough, if only for the immediate now.

Oswald’s eyes are closed, tears on his cheeks as his mouth hangs open, tongue loose inside, a low, concentrated croon in the back of his throat. A hand lays trembling on his stomach, approaching his cock but not quite grabbing for it yet.

When Oswald’s inward twitches slow around Ed’s cock, his breath steadying and eyes fluttering open, he looks up at Ed and nods. Ed pulls back, then plunges back in, Oswald loosening around him, a single gasp punctuating the movement before Ed is repeating it, faster and harder this time, angling up now, and Oswald _howls_ , the loudest sound he’s made yet. Ed knows he can make it louder still, so he thrusts back and in again, concentrating all his force into it, then again, and again, the resulting yells blaring in Ed’s ears and filling him with near as much thigh-trembling pleasure as Oswald’s clamping hole around him.

Between the blood rushing in his ears and Oswald’s fevered screams, Ed can’t tell if the conversation outside has stilled, but it hardly matters, because here Oswald is, taking Ed’s cock and loving every inch of it, willfully surrendering victory with every gleeful cry, gasp-laughing like that’s what he wanted all along and getting louder and louder still until he’s coming, Ed’s name filling the room, the mansion, the _city_ like a throaty roar, and even once he’s finished he repeats it, for Ed’s sake, _Ed Ed Ed Ed Ed Ed_ , and Ed knows what he’s really saying is: _I love you, I’m yours, I’ll let them all know it_.

With a final stuttering pump, Ed comes, vision going blank and a mangled cry of his own hitting the open air, Oswald’s repeated name on his lips his reply in kind: _I love you, I’m yours, I’ll let them all know it_.

When both their breaths have stilled, Ed narrows his focus onto the conversational din outside, lively as ever.

“Well, it’s safe to say I won,” Ed grins. “But do you think they heard?”

“Oh, I have no doubt,” Oswald exhales, smiling himself, bringing his slim arms around Ed’s back.

“I’ll happily sic The Riddler on each and any one of them that attempts to use this against you,” Ed promises, something like arousal flooding him at the thought.

“That’s sweet,” Oswald laughs, “But they won’t dare. Besides, The Penguin has no end of vengeful methods of his own.”

“Of course,” Ed beams, “A fact The Bat will soon be making painful peace with, I imagine.”

“One can hope,” Oswald says, the glow on his face dimming just a shade.

“We’ll get him,” Ed assures him, bringing his hands up to cup his sweat-dampened face.

Oswald's features soften into a misty-eyed smile, grateful, _happy_ , and Ed realizes with a flare of bone-deep warmth that the sight is a greater victory than any other this rotten city has ever set the stage for.

**Author's Note:**

> Title lifted and adapted from Tegan & Sara's "Red Belt."
> 
> If you enjoyed this, allow me to recommend another, similarly themed piece by a lovely anonymous writer who was inspired by it: [it's dangerous to go and to listen to what they say](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10582815).


End file.
